The Usual, English?
by purrpickle
Summary: Cartinelli drabbles and short stories, all one-shots.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I don't own Agent Carter nor the characters within. So, this is a collection of Cartinelli drabbles and short stories, all one-shots unless specifically stated. Posted in order of being written.

* * *

So maybe Angie kept her best pots of coffee for the English lady who walked in most mornings. So maybe she remembered the exact moment the English lady (a Peggy Carter she learned almost haphazardly the second or third time she had come into the automat, overhearing a bitter muttering as the lady slid into what was becoming her normal booth) asked for that coffee instead of the tea she'd ordered the first couple of times. So maybe she counted the times she got a full smile from those equally full lips, Peggy Carter slowly relaxing around her as Angie allowed herself free rein in talking and coaxing and encouraging.

So maybe now, Angie smiled, resting her elbows comfortably on the table top as Peggy Carter, English lady, smiled back at her over the rim of her coffee cup, she lived for those moments.


	2. Chapter 2

Angie hums, tucking her pencil behind her ear. It's propped against her hat, pinned into her hair, but it's long since been uncomfortable. She's been a waitress for far too long, she thinks.

Looking up as the door swivels open, Angie's smile suddenly isn't forced anymore. It's English. Already pulling up the freshest pot of coffee there is, she walks over, quickly turning over the waiting cup at English's booth to fill it as the woman settles herself down. She looks tired but alert, and Angie can't stop herself from sitting down across from her, pencil now poised on the order pad. "Usual?"

English smiles, perfect lipstick red lips plumping. Even if her eyes are tired, as Angie notes, her smile is always genuine. "Please."

"Got it." Halfway rising, Angie pauses, briefly pressing her fingers against a strong shoulder as she completely straightens. "You gonna want some company?"

Brown eyes meet hers. "Please," English repeats, pulling her coffee mug closer, almost hiding her smile behind it, "I'd love to hear about your day."

"_My_ day?" Angie laughs. "Five cents your day has been more exciting."

"I wouldn't bet on that." Taking a sip of her coffee, English nods, inclining her head so she can study Angie, "You had an audition earlier, correct?"

English had remembered. Angie pauses, smile widening, her fingers tightening around her notepad. Still, "Audition, shmaudition. I ever tell you how elite those upper number directors are?"

"Perhaps. But you're welcome to remind me." English's eyes twinkle, and not for the first time, Angie finds herself affected by how… _English_ English can sound. She picks up the coffee carafe again.

"How about," she finally allows, acknowledging the man across the room who is calling for her with a half-turn of her body, unwilling to turn completely away from the older woman before her, "I take care of this jerk before clocking out and bringing you some of our freshest pie?" She grins. "You're gonna have to be ready to listen to me lament over it, just so you know," she faux warns.

English's red lips smile at her again. "I'd like that."

"Good." Angie pivots on her heel, pausing only to give English a wink before practically strutting away, already looking forward to quitting and clocking out, tallying up her tips. "'Cause I'm going to do it anyway!"


	3. Chapter 3

The unknown adolescent boy who had slipped into the automat three minutes earlier was now currently involved in an energetic, furtive conversation with Angie, Peggy noted, swallowing her current sip of coffee. Watching over the rim of her mug, the SSR agent took stock of the young waitress, palms propped on the counter with her body rigid, face as severe as Peggy had ever seen it, practically setting the record for speedy, harsh whispering. The boy, with his back to Peggy, opposite from Angie's ever-present confidence, was drawn in on himself, fists clenched in the pockets of his trousers, small and unassuming. His hair brushed along the nape of his neck.

It was selfish of her, but Peggy wished she could hear what was being discussed.

"Hey! Martinelli!" The chef, red faced and overworked, suddenly snapped, making both the talkers and Peggy flinch, looming out from inside the kitchen, "We're not runnin' a free business – either the kid pays for food or he scats."

Angie swiveled around. "Hey, he's my nephew, okay? We won't be a sec – "

"Do I look like I give a damn?" The chef grunted. He was a piggish man, and Peggy's already low impression of him lowered even more. "He family enough you'd risk losin' your job fer?"

The kid's ears blushed in shame and embarrassment, and before Peggy fully knew what she was doing, unwilling to wait to see what Angie's response would be, she raised her hand, setting down her coffee and clearing her throat. "Uh, Angie," she called, loud enough to intrude on the exchange, instantly meeting Angie's gaze with her own as she turned around at the sound of her voice, "I'm finding myself open to company for the next few minutes. You know anyone…" She glanced surreptitiously at the boy now facing her, enough like Angie to probably honestly be her nephew, and raised her eyebrow, lips quirking up, "Willing to volunteer?"

Angie studied her. Her arms crossed over her chest. "English – "

"Hey," Peggy nodded at the empty space across from her, smiling at the boy who looked back at her curiously, "You hungry? They have some absolutely _delectable_sweets here." She glanced up at Angie again, taking in her hard blue eyes. "I hear your aunt," she didn't quibble before pausing, waiting for the kid to slide, slowly, haltingly onto the seat across from her, smiling as she took in the microscopic easing of Angie's expression, suddenly full of gratitude as she scurried over, pad and pencil clenched in her hands, "Baked an absolutely _delightful _pie for today."

'Thank you,' Angie mouthed, glaring at the space the scoffing chef had disappeared into. "You really don't mind…?" she articulated once facing the SSR agent again, expression pinched.

Peggy took a sip of her coffee. "Angie. Take the boy's order."

"I…" The boy's voice was low, but hopeful. "You really…?" When Peggy only smiled at him, he looked down, ostensibly clenching his hands in his lap as he muttered, shoulders pulling inward again, barely glancing up at his aunt, "Toast, please."

Peggy didn't urge him to order anything anymore substantial; she knew it wouldn't be appreciated.

It was only after Angie nodded, hurrying over to place the order, getting sidetracked by a customer clamoring for another refill of coffee, that Peggy tried to get the boy to look at her. "You're a Martinelli?" she asked inquiringly.

The boy shrugged. "Enough so. She's my aunt," he whispered as if it was a confession, validating the woman from earlier, and Peggy decided that was sufficient to stop her from probing further.

Taking another sip of her coffee, knowing she'd have to get it refilled soon, Peggy casually lay her forearms onto the table. "Surely you have a name of your own? I'm Peggy Carter." A beat. "Miss Carter if you must."

"Not Mrs.?" the boy quipped, looking up at her. His blue eyes were such like Angie's Peggy found herself staring at him.

"No." Peggy smiled crookedly, "No Mr. to my name." Maybe once upon a time there would have been, but now…

"Ilario."

Setting her coffee mug down, Peggy nodded. "It's nice to meet you, Ilario." When the boy didn't answer, gaze skittering along her face without attempting to start a dialogue, she rallied herself to wait for Angie for anything to happen; it was obvious the kid was either secretive to the point of antisocial, or unequipped to deal with those he didn't know.

Still, when the kid suddenly spouted, "I'm happy to owe you something for this," Peggy smiled at him.

"I'll hold you to that," she offered, meeting his eyes directly even as Angie slid a plate of buttered toast in front of him, plopping down next to him. "Goodness knows I may need a young man to do some things around the apartment I cannot." Mrs. Fry's rules notwithstanding.

Ilario smiled self-consciously, leaning immediately into Angie as he reached for the jam at the side of the table. "Your friend is nice," he muttered; Peggy pretended not to hear him.

Biting the corner of her lips, Angie knocked her shoulder against her nephew's, barely able to sweep her eyes along Peggy's. "Does she need anymore help?" she smiled fakely, as if for the chef's sake as he tromped around the counter's circumference across from them, her voice pinched.

Aware Angie wasn't talking about her, Peggy didn't react.

Ilario swallowed loudly. "What you're giving is perfect," he muttered. "That's why madre sent me. To thank you." He crunched into his toast.

Angie's uncommonly pale face eased, and Peggy realized, suddenly, just how off-kilter her friend must have been. "Good," Angie murmured back, patting Ilario's shoulder, blue eyes searing into Peggy's as they met again. Chin jutting as she refused to feel embarrassed for what was being revealed, the waitress finished, "But I'm here if she needs me." Her lips creased, pinching. "Promise."

Draining her coffee in lieu of exposing she was understanding anything that was going on, Peggy smiled serenely at the younger woman.

* * *

Half an hour later, the automat door sliding to a stop after Ilario pushed his way out, Angie fished inside her apron, pulling out a couple of pennies. "Here," she muttered, lips screwing up, having quickly tallied up the price of the boy's food.

Holding her hand up, Peggy tried to decline, but Angie stared at her, eyes hard, ungiving.

"Angie…"

Angie pushed the coins at her.

Opening her mouth, Peggy paused. There was something in the younger woman's expression… Sighing silently, she nodded, reaching out to take the coins.

"And don't you _dare _try to give me this back by way of tip," Angie said pointedly, refilling Peggy's mug once more with the carafe of fresh piping hot coffee she'd walked over.

Peggy laughed. "I wouldn't think of it," she demured, grinning.

Still, it was only after Angie had walked away that Peggy realized, staring down at the coins in her palm, smile creasing her lips, that she meant to honor that promise.

Thinking back to the young Ilario who'd sworn to pay her back someday, then to the unapologetic Angie who had stepped in, covering for him, Peggy slipped the pennies into her purse, gaze moving up to watch Angie across the room, dealing with other clientele. "Who would have thought," she murmured to herself, setting down her usual tip and standing up, smile crossing her lips, "Angie would be such a familial woman."

It was endearing.

Yes. Peggy gave the younger woman another smile, pulling her red felt hat onto her head as she exited the diner, smile widening as she didn't miss the affectionate wink Angie sent her way – very, very endearing.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Prompt from an anon; Peggy REALLY wants to tell Angie about her secret life. Thanks!

* * *

Holding her head, Peggy exhaled deeply, moving her hands back to lightly grasp the area above her ears as she looked up at the wallpaper opposite herself.

She was honestly thinking about telling Angie.

…Which was suicide and ridiculous to even entertain the idea of doing so, she reminded herself seconds later, fingernails digging into her scalp. Angie could hate her. Never speak to her again. Insist on helping her. Any of the millions of ways she'd thought about Angie reacting could be catastrophic.

But still, sliding her hand down to briefly cover her mouth, Peggy wanted to. She could stomach the dying of light in the younger woman's eyes whenever Peggy had to blow her off or lie only so much.

Pulling her hand away, she glanced down to see if she had mussed her lipstick.

She hadn't, but she still felt the overwhelming need to verify it visually as well, even so. Rising, padding into her bathroom and the mirror within, Peggy stared at her reflection. With her curls still mostly curled and clothes barely rumpled even though she'd wrestled with a lackey only hours before, Peggy could still see where her pulse fluttered in her throat, her adrenaline not yet completely gone.

If that night was like the other nights, Angie was going to knock on her door soon. But this time, Peggy determined, shoulders slumping before she straightened dramatically, recentering herself, she would be better prepared than the previous nights. Giving herself a cursory look over her appearance, then walking into her main room to make sure everything was in order, with nothing suspicious or suspect in sight, she picked up her symbol book, studying it like it _was_Shakespeare after all.

Not five minutes later, Angie's hard, insistent raps sounded on her door.

"Angie," Peggy started, but was quickly cut off when Angie barged in.

"Fifty cents would have been a welcome today," Angie offered as a greeting, taking a familiar seat on Peggy's bed, giving Peggy a wide, suffering teeth-filled smile after Peggy closed the door to her room after her, "Can you believe I only got thirty-four cents in my eight hour shift today? Thirty-four cents! It's like I've said before - I doubt that people even _know_ the war's over, you know?"

Walking over to take a seat next Angie, Peggy looked down at the inches separating them. She allowed a small smile to pass her lips as she briefly met Angie's gaze. "What a travesty," she murmured, absolutely meaning it.

"You know it." Sitting back, tilting her head as she took in Peggy, a slight frown passed across Angie's features. "You okay?"

"I'm sorry?"

Angie nodded, leaning in towards Peggy. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Laughing, smoothing down her as-yet-unchanged-skirt-from-work, Peggy shook her head. "No," she continued smiling, scooting infinitesimally closer, her heart giving a strong, painful thump as her knee brushed along Angie's, "I'm glad you're here." Pausing a moment, she swallowed through a thick lump, unable to stop herself from almost compulsively straightening and squaring her shoulders. "Angie…" she stared into curious blue eyes, "There's…" She trailed off.

"English?" Angie prompted, smiling softly, "I assume there's a full sentence in there somewhere. Gonna prove me right?"

Peggy smiled back, shaking her head, then closed her eyes briefly. "May I speak frankly with you?"

"Of course," Angie nodded, searching Peggy's eyes as her expression sobered. "Though I think I'd kind of insist you do anyway, with the way you're acting. What is it?" Her eyes widened. "Wait, no one's dead, are they?"

"No," Peggy half-laughed again, more out of jerk reaction than actual humor, "Not this time."

This was it. The point of no return.

Taking a deep breath, Peggy then, hand flying out to take hold of Angie's, squeezed it tightly, knuckles whitening as Angie unconsciously squeezed back. "There's something I wish to speak to you about," she murmured, meeting Angie's eyes directly, "Something…" Her hand tightened even more around Angie's with every purposeful word that dropped from her lips, the faintest of smiles on her face as she committed to her choice, "Of the utmost importance."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Prompt from an anon; cheesecake, schnapps, eager beaver. Thanks!

**A/N2**: Eager beaver is genuine 1940s slang, so good on you! :D

* * *

"Well, you're quite the eager beaver, aren't you?" Peggy found herself saying, watching Angie weave her way in and out between the late lunch rush bustling aisles of the automat, coffee carafe held confidently as she filled and refilled at customers' discretion.

Barely able to stop long enough to grace Peggy with a teeth-filled, humorless smile, Angie followed it up with an amused, "Golly, and you're just such a breath of fresh air, ain't ya, English?"

Chuckling, Peggy allowed her crimson-red nails to tap against her coffee mug as she set it down, knowing, sitting at the counter as she was, that the waitress was likely to loop back around with more fresher-than-not coffee in hand. And indeed, "Thank you," she offered primly, grinning behind the mug at Angie's rolling eyed huff after topping her off, observing her trundle off in the mirror opposite her.

"Shut up, English. It's not like you're used to it or anything," Angie affectionately responded moments later, giving her a wink before turning to retrieve one of her jerk customer's orders.

Still chuckling to herself, Peggy stood up, striding over to the automated dessert wall to pull out a slice of cheesecake before making her way back to her seat. Taking a cursory glance to see that her purse left on the countertop was still in order, she paused, waiting, fork poised over the sweet, unable to stop a smile from crossing – and staying – on her face.

Even so, "It not up to your standards?" Angie asked curiously during a rare chance for herself to have a breath of fresh air, resting on her heels in front of Peggy.

"Oh no." Moving the fork down, cutting a bite-size - for her, at least – piece, Peggy moved it up, closer to her lips. "Just thinking about how this would be very much more appreciated with company."

Angie's lips curled up, followed closely by her eyebrows lifting. "Really."

"Like rhubarb pie," Peggy smiled, agreeing, sliding the piece into her mouth, humming in turn as the flavor hit her taste buds.

Angie managed a laugh of her own, fingers curling on the counter in front of Peggy. "Then keep that for later," she answered lowly, almost distractedly, already plastering a polite smile on her face as she picked up a new carafe, pulling her pencil from behind her ear as someone new entered the diner.

"As long as you have schnapps," Peggy lilted back at her next chance, having set down her fork long before Angie made her way back to her.

"English." Taking the seconds to stop, a real smile blossoming on her face as she met Peggy's gaze directly, taking in her wrapping the cheesecake up into a napkin, "Honestly. When do I _never_ have schnapps?"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: This contains Angie/Howard, along with Angie/Peggy feelings. I'm disclaiming that so if people really don't want to read the aftermath of sexual Angie/Howard, you have been warned.

**A/N2**: I'm still a firm fan of Angie/Howard brotp (and not romantic), but this idea came to me out of nowhere and I had to write it down. (I'm sorry.)

**A/N3**: I wrote this before A Sin to Err aired, and I had definitely wanted to post it before that episode aired because I knew this would be less accepted due to the influx of Cartinelli feels I knew would be coming. Only, my beta completely forgot about getting back to me, and the episode aired. So I decided to wait to let a lot of the initial surge of excitement go by, because let's face it, this isn't the dream scenario - and I'd already written in so it _had_ to be posted (that's how I work).

* * *

Howard's in the bathroom, splashing his face with water from the sink even as steam from his shower curls its way out of the barely closed door. He's probably just finished touching up his mustache and clean shaven chin, Angie thinks. Sitting up with her back against the wall, her blanket pulled up tight against her chest, she already regrets everything.

It had been so simple. Howard Stark, billionaire fugitive, had suddenly shown up at her door. A couple of hours after Peggy had arrived to dinner after turning down Angie's offer of Pepto, she had taken one look at Howard, remembered him from an hazy tumble five years ago when she'd been new to the area, and pulled him into her room. Firstly intent on demanding why he was there, then pretending to go with his excuse of visiting "his cousin, Peggy", she'd found herself entirely too quickly allowing him to work his charms.

He hadn't disappointed five years ago, she remembers telling herself, so why should he disappoint now? She was lonely. Hadn't had a satisfying moment of human touch for longer than she'd care to remember. And though she knew she was treating herself cheaply, giving in too easily - and wasn't there someone else she wanted more than anything? Someone who made her smile and made her palms sweat and made her heart skip a beat whenever she even thought about seeing them? - she'd made the conscious decision to let nature take over as soon as Howard's calloused hand skimmed along her hip.

So what if he was a suspected terrorist. So what if he was paramountly different than the one she wanted. She'd given in.

Swallowing, abruptly brought back to the present, Angie quickly rises from the bed, practically trembling as she scoops up her discarded underwear and skirt and blouse Howard had easily divested of her almost an hour before. "Unless you have confirmation Peggy's here," she coughs, clearing her throat, raising her voice just enough to be heard in the bathroom, "Stay here. I'm goin' to the kitchen. They tend to keep leftovers for a couple'a hours in the icebox, so I'll have food so..." She takes a moment, "If you're still here when I'm back, I'll feed you. Otherwise, I won't be heartbroken if you're gone. Peggy'll probably be lookin' for you."

Howard pushes open the bathroom door properly, steam finishing billowing out as he grants her a confident, sexy smirk. He has one of Angie's towels wrapped low on his hips, the rest of him naked and shiny with water, still wet hair plastered lazily to his forehead, and sick awareness twinges in Angie's stomach. "You sure you're not gonna want another round?"

The sick awareness abruptly sours in Angie's stomach. "Not of what you're thinkin'," she reaches out, grabbing Howard's shirt and trousers from where they had been tossed over her desk, quickly throwing them at the man. "Make yourself decent," she glares at him, "This was fun, but - it's not gonna happen again."

Quickly leaving before she hears Howard's response, Angie can barely breathe as she shuts her door behind her.

And then, suddenly, "Angie?" Dottie asks, the woman startling her. Also closing her room door behind her, seemingly having the same idea Angie has to check out what leftovers will be available in the kitchen, the tall blonde gives her a concerned, honest smile.

Angie puts a smile of her own on her face, thankful for the distraction. "Just hungry," she explains, turning away and waiting for Dottie to join her as they start striding down the hall towards the stairs, "You?"

Nodding, Dottie smiles at her. "Don't tell anyone," she says conspiratorially, Iowan accent strong, "But it's this time of night I often go lookin' for pickles."

Pickles. Angie snorts before she can stop herself. "You know what, Dottie?" she says instead of blurting out about just having slept with and gotten into a pickle of her own, affectionately bumping her shoulder against the other woman's, "I think you and I're gonna get along just fine."

* * *

The next time Angie runs into Peggy, the woman coming into her diner, Angie does her best to act the same as she always has. She knows, through the Griffith grapevine, that Howard's long gone, Peggy seemingly having kicked her "cousin" out sometime after Angie had gotten back to her room with Howard already having cleared out. In fact, having heard that information, it had honestly made Angie feel better than it should have. She's still curious as to how Peggy and Howard know each other, but she also knows she doesn't want to know if it's anything other than friends or colleagues. As much as she's not innocent, in regards to Howard, it doesn't mean she wants verification Peggy's the same.

Still, she's paranoid Peggy knows.

Only, as Peggy acts the same as always - tired and aggrieved and complaining shallowly about her workplace - it slowly becomes clear Peggy doesn't know. And, equally slowly, guiltily, part of Angie relaxes.

If she and Peggy do become closer, she thinks, hiding behind a broad smile as she slips Peggy a piece of key lime pie, pretending everything's okay, she knows she'll have to come clean. If she's correct about how much Peggy's attracted to her, too - and oh how she hopes she is! - and for how long she hopes the Englishwoman has been, too, Angie'll have to admit that, in the middle of their "courtship", she'd slept with someone else - a male someone else...

Angie's fingernails cut sharply into her palm as a wide smile slashes across her face, eventually managing to turn it into a sincere smile as Peggy vaguely tries to commiserate with her about men in the workplace as Angie pours her a refill of coffee.

She's still not sure how she'll ever rationalize it satisfactorily. She just hopes whatever she tries will be enough.


	7. Chapter 7

There was frost on the window.

Exhaling, reaching out to draw in the resulting cloud with her finger, Angie sighed, resting her chin in her opposite palm. Was it worth it to spend more energy to draw a heart like she wanted to than just aimlessly make patterns?

A heart that could possibly hold an A and P, too...

Jerking, snapping back as the heels of sharp, well-dressed shoes echoed across bright, waxed floors, Angie pushed herself into a relaxed position against the counter in front of the sink, making sure to look as if she was casually flipping through a cookbook instead of doing anything else. "Mr. Fancy," she greeted, glancing quickly at the man before turning back to the rain-streaked window, "I didn't think you were coming today."

"I'm only here to check on the food stores, Miss Martinelli, excuse me," Mr. Jarvis responded, striding past her. Stiffly throwing open the pantry and flicking on the light leading down to the wine cellar, he asked over his shoulder, "Is there anything you particularly wish for?"

No, she didn't think so. Straightening, Angie walked over to place herself behind the man, unable to stop herself from curiously peering over his shoulder - what had she and Peggy succeeded in emptying? she wondered. "I... Have you asked Peggy?" There was no use in calling her English here, she thought ruefully.

Jarvis turned, giving her a searching look. "Miss Carter," he responded, closing the cellar door behind him, "Wished to remind me you would appreciate more flour and sugar, as well as fresh fruit."

"Really?" Angie's eyebrows rose, "That's... Yes. Thank you. If you could..."

"Yes?"

Angie shrugged. "Savory beef, maybe. Whatever you Englishmen and women..." she affected her voice, "_Prefer_ for your _treats_."

Jarvis studied her. Opening his mouth, he frowned, apparently thought better of it, and nodded, beginning to stride away. However, as soon as he reached the threshold of the kitchen leading out to the hallway, he halted. "Ah... If I may..."

Tilting her head, Angie nodded, motioning for him to continue.

Nodding himself, opening his mouth and pausing before almost nervously pulling his overcoat down, Jarvis met her eyes. "Miss Carter..."

"Mmm?"

Jarvis looked away. "Enjoys scones."

Scones? Angie paused, halting in front of the window she'd been at before. "Yeah?" she muttered. Did the cookbook...?

About to exit the kitchen, Jarvis cleared his throat. "I believe... Page 84 might be useful."

Angie spun on her heel. "84 - ?"

The sound of retreating footsteps met her ears.

Mustering a soft laugh even as her heart throbbed for a beat in her chest, Angie shook her head, turned back to the window, and, on impulse, leaned forward to finish the heart she'd thought about before.

A + P.

Page 84.

Why not.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I sent this ask on tumblr: Angie's the type of girl that, if she likes someone she's waiting on, she'll continuously, unobtrusively, add special things to their order. An extra dollop of cream, an extra pickle, the best piece out of the pie... Then, as time passes and her efforts aren't rebuffed, she becomes more overt. Like bringing that person a free pie slice altogether, or giving them real eggs instead of powdered. She's a master at low-key flirting; slow and steady, she knows, wins the race. Just ask her about Peggy.

VintageCartinelli responded with: When they move in together, Angie probably bakes Peggy entire cakes and the idiot still doesn't catch on.

So.

* * *

"Oh, that smells lovely," Peggy sniffed, smiling as she walked into the kitchen. Watching Angie pull another cake, piping hot, out of the oven, she pressed herself comfortably against the counter behind her, crossing her arms loosely, "What is it this time?"

Angie glanced at her. Depositing the cake pan onto the cooling rack, she exhaled, jerked her head to push a free bang off of her forehead, and chucked her oven mittens to the side before answering: "Upside-down pineapple." Once her hands were free, she manually moved the still rebelling curl off of her forehead, tucking it behind her ear, "You interested?"

A soft laugh left Peggy's mouth before she could stop it. "I'd think," she responded, straightening, walking over to join Angie looking down at the cooling confection, "My expanding waistline would be answer enough!"

"Oh you!" Lightly whapping Peggy's shoulder with the damp dish towel she was using to clean her still lightly cake-flour dusted hands, Angie tsked and shook her finger at her, "Like that's a problem for you, English. One day of your '_exercises_' and poof! Weight gone. You aware a girl can be mighty jealous of that, right?"

Smiling broadly, Peggy gently bumped their shoulders together. "I'll concede it's _somewhat_ easy for me, Angie. Simple truth is, I can't stay still!

"However," she continued, shaking her head while still smiling, gazing at Angie as she changed the subject, "That's immaterial. What's the occasion for today?"

Angie raised an eyebrow. "There has to be a reason?"

"There doesn't?"

In response, the younger woman frowned, the corners of her lips lifting, falling, then lifting again. "After all this time?" she hedged, laughing, "As if I need a reason to bake - yet again - another cake." Her voice lightened. "Haven't you learned that yet, Pegs?"

Peggy studied her. "I guess I should have." Leaning in to take another deep sniff of the cake, she grinned at her friend; pressing a quick, strong flash of her fingers against the other brunette's arm, she stepped backward, tilting her head in leave. "Find me when it's ready to be eaten?"

Angie's expression faulted, but she nodded, softening, almost sighing in conciliation as a small smile played on her lips. "Yeah, Pegs." Her smile became more sincere. "Of course."

Smiling again, and itching to change - when would the local goonies learn blood and gunpowder weren't her perfume of choice? she wondered, pulling at the collar of her blouse - Peggy ducked out of the kitchen.

Only, as she walked away, she couldn't miss a deep sigh. "Attempt twenty-three...?" Angie's voice roughened and dropped, practically more of a mutter than anything else as she continued, sounding low and let-down, "No luck."

Peggy paused with her hand on the staircase banister. Attempt number twenty-three?

Attempt number twenty-three of _what_?


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **100 word drabble prompt from an anon; beach. Thanks!

* * *

Angie shook out her towel, laying it onto the sand. "Well?" she asked, splitting her attention from the rolling blue of the ocean and Peggy standing a couple of meters above her, closer towards the changing tents. She dropped the umbrella from under her arm.

"I'm just…" Peggy trailed off, keeping her towel wrapped around herself.

Angie looked at her. "What? Shy?" Placing her hands on her hips, she cocked her eyebrow. "Peggy, I'd be _blessed_ if I'd got your shape. C'mon! Flaunt what'cha got!"

"_Angie_."

"_Peggy_." Affecting her voice, Angie approached the other woman. She grabbed her towel. "_Flaunt_."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **100 word prompt from an anon; Peggy wants to do something special for Angie. Thanks!

* * *

"I'm still waitin' for you to tell me what we're doing here."

Without looking from the boxes she was clearing, torch securely between her teeth, Peggy hummed in agreement. She knew, while a little disconcerted by the dark, it was more that they'd had to sneak inside the abandoned building from the alleyway that was bothering Angie. Finally, she let out a muffled, "Ahah!" breaking open the breaker box. Flipping a switch, light erupted. "C'mon, darling."

"Still not explaining…" Angie groused.

A minute later, Angie was agape, staring at the burning lights of her very own theater stage. "_Oh_. _Pegs_."


	11. Chapter 11

" - told you I'll be there."

Quieting her call of Angie's name, Peggy slowed, pausing, even going so far as to halt her removal of her coat. Tilting her head, she shuffled closer to the library door; she knew she shouldn't, but that tone in Angie's voice…

"Mmhm. Right. Yes. Alfie, I'm gonna _be there_. No, I don't care - Alfie. _Alfie_. You're my broth - _yes_, I know what this means - _dammit_, Alfie, just shut up and accept the fact I'm gonna back ya up!"

Then, with a violent crash of receiver on base, Angie swept into the hall, almost crashing directly into Peggy.

"_Peggy_!" she squawked, hands raised in front of her face, teetering back on her heels, "_Jeez_, scare a girl, will ya?"

Peggy dropped her own hands, smoothing down her blouse and skirt in an immediate attempt to seem as if she wasn't ruffled. "I called for you," she offered uselessly.

"Ahuh." Nodding, eyebrows raised, Angie started edging around her. "Well, welcome back. Dinner's in the oven. I'm just… I have to… There's a family thing."

"Family." Turning her head, watching Angie hurry down the hall away from her, Peggy halfheartedly offered the younger woman a raised wave. "Be careful…!" she called to the already closing front door.

Once it shut, confronted with sudden, pressing silence closing in on her, Peggy exhaled. She wasn't sure if she should follow Angie or not.

On one hand, Angie was a grown woman. Someone well equipped with asking for help if she needed it. Someone who seemed intent on proving to Peggy she was capable of taking care of herself.

On the other hand, that phone call Peggy had overheard…

The phone suddenly shrilled. Running into the library, Peggy snatched it up. "Yes?" she snapped.

"Miss Carter," Jarvis' calm voice greeted, "I apologize for the imposition, but I'm calling on behalf of Mr. Stark. He wishes to know if you're satisfied with your accommodations."

Losing herself into a discussion of the apartment and its pros and cons, switching halfway through to the phone in the kitchen so she could serve herself an absolutely delightful cut of roast beef with carrots and potatoes, Peggy begged off an hour before her normal bedtime. As lovely as it was hearing about Mrs. Jarvis' plans for an early Easter luncheon - one she'd be sure to pass on the invitation to Angie - she _did _have a nightly routine.

One that did _not_, Peggy stared at the shuffling, limping form of her roommate, twenty minutes after wishing the Jarvises a good night, include a black and blue Angie.

"Angie!" she gasped, surging forward, cupping the waitress' elbows to keep her upright, leading her into the hallway powder room so she could get a better look at her, "Oh, darling, what happened?"

Angie winced at the warm pressure of Peggy's fingers along her split and bleeding eyebrow, continuing to wince as Peggy trailed down an equally knotted cheek and split lip. "'S fine," she managed a smile even as the sink she leaned over ran red with her blood, "I've had worse."

"Worse!" Peggy cupped her chin, pulling her around to look at her, "Angie. Good lord! You look like you've lost ten rounds!"

"You should see the other person," Angie quipped, only to flinch when Peggy glared at her. "Sorry," she muttered.

"You should only be sorry if you mean it," Peggy replied. Continuing to stroke Angie's cheek, she glanced down, trying to see the other woman's hands. "Well," she stated, using her other hand to pull one of Angie's up, "These are some bruises on your knuckles, huh."

Angie tilted her head, glancing at her from under her eyelashes. She sighed. "I had to."

"I see."

"No, really." Twisting, resting her elbow on the sink counter, Angie gazed up at Peggy as best as she could. "Alfie needed me."

Peggy pursed her lips. Dropping Angie's hand, she ran a towel under the water, using it to dab at the blood dripping down Angie's cheek.

Angie sighed again. "Alfie. He's my twin. Got into some trouble." She closed her eyes, letting Peggy stroke over them. "I had to help him." Her free hand found Peggy's waist, curling, tugging at the material of her nightgown. When Peggy moved back, letting Angie open her eyes again, Angie stared at her. "I had to," she repeated.

"I know." Brushing Angie's bruise-free cheek with the back of her knuckles, it was Peggy's turn to sigh. "I just wish I was there." She wrung out the towel, draping it over the faucet. "I almost was. I should have followed you."

But Angie was already shaking her head. "No," she met Peggy's eyes with her own, as swollen as one was; she smirked rakishly, "Wouldn't have been fair then."

"Oh?" Peggy snorted, curling her hands on either side of Angie's face, turning the woman around so she faced her directly.

"Yeah." Angie grinned. "You against the crooks of my old neighborhood? No fun in that!" Allowing the semblance of a laugh to leave her chest, she sobered, dropping her head as best she could against Peggy's hold, shuffling closer. "I mean it, though. Really," she murmured, fingers once again tangled in the fabric of Peggy's nightgown, pushing back so she could loosely hug the older woman's waist with her forearms, lopsided smile directed completely up at her, "This was between me, Alfie, and the mooks."

Peggy wrapped her arms around Angie, pulling her in close. Squeezing her to her for a couple of seconds, she quickly stepped back. "Then, come on. There's still the dinner you prepared."

"Hmm?"

Peggy pressed a fast, fleeting kiss to Angie's forehead. "You need to eat," she expounded, "Eat and rest." She moved back again, curling her hand around Angie's to tug her out of the powder room. "Tomorrow, I can teach you how to better fight against those who would harm you.

"Only _if_, of course," she turned back, staring at Angie, "You insist on continuing this course for your future."

Angie followed her. "I'd like that," she said, meaning it, her hand tightening around Peggy's, depending on her to lead her as much as she was intent on not acknowledging the probably _violent_ course she'd take in defense of her twin at any moment, "I'd like that. Thank you."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **100 word drabble prompt from an anon; Angie had a baby when she was younger, her mother is raising him/her as her own child, but Peggy finds out the truth (in the end she loves Angie no less). (Really, 100 words is not enough! But I still tried!) Thanks!

* * *

"So she's..."

Angie concentrated on the fireplace. Her fingernails dug into her biceps. "Yes."

"...Not your sister."

"Just _had_ to make that clear, huh?" Angie almost snarked. She couldn't look at Peggy.

Peggy sighed, sitting down next to her. She took Angie's hand. Studied her. "I'm sure you had your reasons."

"See a wedding ring on me?"

"_Angie_."

Angie quieted.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

Peggy exhaled. "Look at me," she murmured.

Angie winced.

"I understand." Leaning in, Peggy softly kissed her cheek. "I do."

"Right."

"I _do_."

Angie faltered. Swallowed. "…You still love me?" she whispered.

"Always."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **100 word prompt from an anon; Angie and Peggy fighting for a bed side. Thanks!

* * *

"_What are you doing_?"

Looking up at the almost-shriek, Angie's voice high and outraged, Peggy snaps her pillow up in front of her like a shield. "Nothing!" she stammers, having to tense so she doesn't topple over, one of her knees on the bed with her opposite foot planted on the floor.

"Doesn't look like _nothing_, missy!" Stalking forward, hair in pins and hands gesticulating wildly, Angie enters Peggy's space. "That's _my _side of the bed!"

Peggy blinks. "What?"

"You heard me," Angie pokes Peggy's chest, "_I_ get the right side!"

"_Really_, Angie. I thought you meant the other right!"


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **100 word drabble prompt from an anon; Captain America. Thanks!

* * *

It took Angie too long to realize who Peggy had lost during the war.

Even though Peggy had convinced her she _wasn't_ a phone operator, Angie hadn't ever presumed Peggy to be more than a basic English officer - and certainly _not_ one now known as Betty Carver, the twisted dreadful radio character Angie had once auditioned for.

As soon as Angie had realized, however, the photo of the skinny man hidden in Peggy's room had suddenly made uncomfortable, terrible, heartbreaking sense. She'd overheard Howard, after all.

That man was Steve Rogers.

Captain America.

Peggy's first love.

_Everything_ Angie was not.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** An alternate scene (or idea of a scene, if you'd prefer) for "A Sin to Err", starring the brave and bold Angie Martinelli and the supportive and secretive Dottie Underwood. *grins* (Posting it here because the original plan was for a proper fic that involved Jarvis, Angie, and Dottie as bumbling spies - until, of course, Dottie showed her true colors - with a healthy dose of Cartinelli. At least there's still a smidgen of a hint of Cartinelli anyway, even if the original motivation has waned.)

* * *

It's Dottie who follows Angie inside, into the lobby powder room, the one Angie makes a beeline for because not many women use it and she _really_ needs a private enough, quick place to pretend like she isn't about to cry. It's a little surprising - she and the Iowan don't spend as much together as Angie does with Peggy, or even Peggy does with Dottie, but maybe Dottie's more observant than Angie ever gave her credit for.

"You okay, Angie?"

Dropping her hand holding the bunch of toilet paper she'd immediately nicked to soak up the wetness in her eyes before her makeup ran, Angie manages to give the blonde a brave smile. "It's just, it's all a shock."

Dottie smiles in commiseration, moving closer. "You an' Peggy were awfully close, weren't you." She squeezes Angie's shoulder in a familiar way, ending it by gently patting Angie's arm as she takes her hand back. "It's understandable you'd be out of sorts."

"Yeah," Angie nods, sniffling, bothering to allow her walls down enough to dab at her eyes in front of the other woman. They _were _close. "I don't know what's going on, and that's what worries me the most."

Dottie tilts her head, eyes widening in curiosity. "Is there any way to find out?"

Angie thinks about the sharply dressed gentleman who would often meet with Peggy and, if the phone call she'd gotten from her coworker Darlene after she'd rung up her brother was to be believed, helped her fight off the mob of agents who had tried to jump them earlier that afternoon. Mr. Fancy. No. A...

"Mr. Jarvis," Angie says out loud, looking triumphant, and Dottie smiles hesitantly at her. "Mr. Jarvis?"

Already standing straighter, the toilet paper crumpled in her hand, Angie smiles determinedly. "Yes! Mr. Jarvis. I'm sure he would know what's going on. Or - or even where to start!" Jumping forward, sweeping Dottie's hands in hers, she ignores the look of discomfort that flashes across the Iowan's face due to trapping the used paper between their palms, and starts chattering fervently, eyes darting everywhere, "You'll be with me, won't you, Dottie? It's always better havin' someone to bounce ideas off of. And she's your friend, too - we owe it to her!"

A slow, long smile appears on Dottie's face as her shoulders square, and she gives Angie a strong, eager nod of her head. "Right! As her friends, we owe it to her."

"That'a girl, Dottie!" Angie gives the tall woman a quick, wide smile as she pulls her after her, out of the powder room, already moving her attention away and forward, her remaining words practically spitting out as energy explodes through her, "Knew you were one of the good ones!"


End file.
